


Affinity

by hapakitsune



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you believe in soulmates?” Teemu asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affinity

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Teemu's (supposedly) last regular season game. Noodling. Nonsense. Thanks to C for the beta and keeping me from steering this into muddy waters.

The arena smelled just as Paul remembered it, the artificially cold air mixing with sweat and fast food. It hadn’t been so long, really, since he had last been here, but he felt more foreign standing in the Honda Center than he had putting on a Predators jersey for the first time with no Teemu beside him to smile and break the strangeness of having left home. He was late, by design; coming in the middle of the first period meant everyone’s attention would already be focused on the game and on Teemu in particular, and he could safely ascend to the luxury box seat reserved for him without encountering media or fans. 

The team staff at the box were surprised to see him. They tried to hide it, but he could tell from the looks they exchanged that they hadn’t expected him to show. He didn’t blame them; he hadn’t planned on coming until Teemu had called late the night before, voice rough down the line, and said, “You’re coming, Paul.”

Paul hadn’t said yes immediately, and Teemu had allowed him to change the subject, but Teemu’s expectations had weighed heavily down the phone until finally Paul sighed and said, “Fine. I’ll be there.”

“I will tie you up in my trunk if you aren’t,” Teemu threatened. “This is the end, Paul.”

“Is it?” Paul asked. “You’ve said that before.”

“It’s the end,” Teemu said firmly. “I am old, you know.”

“Not that old,” Paul said. 

He didn’t know if anyone would tell Teemu that he had arrived. He had sent him a text message on his way in, saying he would be missing the opening but that he’d be there. Teemu hadn’t answered; not that he expected him to. Teemu didn’t need the time to get focused, as Paul always had, but he never looked at his phone before going on the ice. He hoped someone would tell him, regardless. 

The first time he had seen Teemu skate was partway through Teemu’s rookie year. He’d been in Maine at the time, and everyone was talking about the Finnish kid up in Winnipeg. One of the defensemen who had a television in his room had gotten them together to watch the Jets play the Sabres. Paul had ignored everyone else to watch the way Teemu moved around the ice, his speed and his skill, and thought, _That guy is something else_.

Teemu wasn’t the same player anymore, but Paul still loved watching him skate. He didn’t examine that often, too aware that he was biased and always would be when it came to Teemu. It was hard not to be; everyone was probably a little biased when it came to their first love. He wondered, sometimes, if Teemu had ever known; if anyone had ever known. He knew now that he hadn’t been particularly subtle in his infatuation, and remembered Jack’s raised eyebrows when he asked about the All-Star Game and Paul babbled breathlessly about Teemu for several minutes, cheeks flushing at the memory of Teemu’s hand on his back at the bar afterward. 

“It’s just vodka,” Teemu had said, the skin around his eyes crinkling with humor. “Didn’t you go to college?”

Paul had loved since then, had dated more as he got older and loosened up, but his personality was hard to reconcile with the idea of letting someone in as much as most relationships demanded. Everyone wanted something from him, whether it was to be a couple openly or just to talk about his family – “Why don’t we ever see your sister?” – and he didn’t see why they needed to own that much of him. He gave them enough. He gave enough of himself letting them into his house, seeing how he lived, sleeping with him in his bed. 

“I just don’t get why we can’t go out together,” his last partner had said, standing in the middle of Paul’s living room with his hands on his hips. “I mean _out_ , in public, holding hands, the whole nine yards. Are you afraid?”

“No,” Paul said. “It’s just – it’s private. No one has the right to have that but us.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” was the exasperated response. They broke up several days later, meeting formally for coffee and shaking hands in an awkward goodbye. Paul hadn’t seen him since. 

What was strange, what had always been strange, was how easily Teemu slipped into Paul’s life. They had been fast friends, introducing themselves before the Super Skills Competition and then standing beside each other before the game, talking over each other in their excitement at seeing Jagr, Gretzky, Sakic. Teemu’s enthusiasm was infectious, his curiosity about Paul insatiable and genuine. By the end of the weekend, Paul had told Teemu more about himself than he had ever told anyone else – more than he ever would, in fact. And it never felt odd, even though he knew Teemu found him as confusing as most people did. 

Teemu had never made him feel uncomfortable, though; perhaps that was why Paul had liked him so much. Other people liked to point out Paul’s idiosyncrasies, laughing when they mentioned how serious he was. Teemu laughed too, but it was always affectionate.

Paul stayed until the end of the game, all the way through Teemu’s skate across the ice with Jiggy. In a perfect world, that would be Paul out there, his hand clasped tightly in Teemu’s. In a perfect world, Paul would be down at the edge of the rink, or with Teemu’s family. In a perfect world, Teemu wouldn’t have needed to call to be sure he would come. 

Instead, Paul waited for the crowd to filter out of the Honda Center before he descended to the dressing room, deftly avoiding the media with the skill of long practice. He stayed out of sight until Teemu finally exited the dressing room, hair still damp and his smile still bright enough to light up the hall. Paul stepped into Teemu’s line of vision and smiled. 

“Congratulations, old man,” he said. 

Temu beamed and reached out to pull Paul in for a tight hug, burying his face in Paul’s neck, dampening the collar of Paul’s shirt. “Hey, Paulie,” he said, squeezing. “I knew you would come.”

“I said I would,” Paul said. He was probably wrinkling Teemu’s suit jacket. He couldn’t bring himself to care. 

They held on for longer than most would before Teemu released him and held him at arm’s length, looking him over with a curious eye. “You are okay?”

“I’m fine, Teemu.” He reached up to pat Teemu’s hand. “I promise.” 

Teemu nodded. “All right.” He dropped his hands. “Come back to my place?”

Paul should say no; he knew that, even as he nodded and said, “All right,” and followed Teemu out to the parking lot. He trailed Teemu home, eyes fixed on his back lights, and parked behind him in Teemu’s massive driveway. Inside, Teemu wordlessly offered him a beer and they took them out to the back patio to sit out under the black night. There was something about evening in California that wasn’t quite like anywhere else; there was a sense of vastness, even in the suburbs, the feeling that your words would get swallowed up into the stars and preserved there. 

They were quiet, though, the only sounds the soft scrape of wet glass against Teemu’s table. It was restful after the chaos of the Honda Center, and Paul began to grow tired, sinking back into his chair. It wasn’t until Teemu cleared his throat that he looked over at him. Teemu’s eyes gleamed in the light from the house, his cheek lit gold, and for a moment, Paul was twenty-one, shoulder-to-shoulder with Teemu in the darkness of FleetCenter, Teemu whispering, “And there’s Jagr, did you see his goal last week?” as the announcer called the name of the next player. 

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Teemu asked. 

Paul froze, eyes fixed on the dark curve of Teemu’s eyelashes, his downcast gaze. He took a swallow of beer; his mouth was dry. “What do you mean?”

“Someone said, earlier,” Teemu said, “that we were hockey soulmates. So I was thinking about it. Soulmates.”

Paul set his beer back down and steadfastly looked away from Teemu. “I don’t know. What about you?”

“I think,” Teemu said slowly, after a silence long enough to send chills down Paul’s back, “that some people were meant to find each other.”

“And that’s us?”

“That’s us,” Teemu said. “Not for hockey, or – not just for hockey, anyway. But we were meant to be friends.”

“That’s what soulmates means to you?” Paul asked. He didn’t say, _I fell in love with you when I was twenty-one_ or _Friends was never what I wanted but it was for you and that had to be good enough_. “I always thought soulmate meant your other half.”

“Yes,” Teemu said. “That’s you, for me.”

Paul finally turned to look and saw that Teemu was watching him steadily. He had set his beer down some time ago, and his hands were restless on the arms of his chair. “I don’t understand.”

“You ever think, sometimes, what if Bure wasn’t injured before the All-Star Game?” Teemu asked. “Maybe we would have met the next year, but maybe I would have been traded somewhere else. The way things worked out – and we played so perfect together. And you were my best friend. Are my best friend.”

“Teemu –”

“I remember how shy you could be,” Teemu said, reaching over now to fasten his hand around Paul’s wrist. His fingers were cool from the bottle, enough that Paul shivers. “You used to pretend not to hear people call your name. But the first time we met, you talked to me.”

“I talked to plenty of people that weekend,” Paul said. “I’m not antisocial.”

“I know.” Teemu said it easily, like there was no question about what he knew about Paul. He was right, to some degree; Teemu knew more about him than anyone. “But you talked to _me_.”

In the darkness, it was easy to say, “I did,” and it was easy to mean _you’re my other half, too_ and know that Teemu would get it. Teemu slid his hand down into Paul’s, lacing their fingers together, and settled back in his chair, head tilted up toward the stars. 

When Paul was in school in Maine, he took an astronomy class for a science credit. It was a late class during the week, so it didn’t conflict with hockey, and it was Paul’s favorite of his classes that first semester. He could still pick out the constellations when the sky was just right. But even though he was looking straight up, he couldn’t gather his thoughts in to focus on their light, not with Teemu’s warm palm against his. 

“Teemu,” he said. “What am I doing here?”

“You make it hard to get a hold of you,” Teemu said. “I succeeded this time. So I’m not letting go.” 

“It’s not hard to get a hold of me,” Paul protested. 

“You’ve gotten away from me before,” Teemu said, soft. He didn’t say anything more for a minute before he squeezed Paul’s hand. “You should have been out on the ice with me tonight.”

“It’s not any use to think about should haves or maybes,” Paul said. 

“It’s not a maybe.” Teemu squeezed harder until Paul looked at him again. “Paul. You should have been there.”

“But I wasn’t.” Paul carefully disentangled himself from Teemu’s grip. “I should go home.”

“Paul –”

“It’s late,” Paul said. He stood, the blood rushing to his head and making him sway on his feet. “Congratulations on your career.”

Teemu followed him to the door, close on his heels the entire time. Paul resolutely did not look back until he opened the door to leave, and then he made the mistake of looking Teemu in the eyes underneath the bright lights of his front hallway. Here, it was impossible to mistake the look in Teemu’s face for anything but what it was: love. 

“I’m going,” Paul said, not moving. 

“You should,” Teemu said, and he kissed Paul, leaning in just far enough to brush their lips together. He didn’t touch Paul anywhere else, but that – just that – was enough to send Paul reeling back. 

“Don’t,” he said, desperate. “Only if you mean it, Teemu. Don’t do this.”

“How could I do anything but mean it?” Teemu asked. He rested his hand on the back of Paul’s neck, tipping him forward, and Paul’s eyes shuttered, tasting Teemu’s breath on his lips. “From the first time I met you, you’ve been mine.”

“You’re so goddamn selfish,” Paul said. He didn’t move any closer, let Teemu come to him instead so Teemu was kissing him with increasing urgency, until finally Paul reached out and rested his palm on Teemu’s chest. He pushed him back and dropped his head, needing to look away from Teemu’s pleading gaze. 

It was eighteen years ago that Paul met Teemu, when he felt that first frisson of attraction in the pit of his stomach. Teemu had smiled, said something about Paul’s play, and said it was nice to meet him. Paul didn’t remember what he had said in response. He only remembered looking Teemu in the eye and losing his ability to think clearly. He remembered Teemu at his side all weekend and people commenting, “I didn’t know you two knew each other,” and them, in unison, replying, “We didn’t.” 

“Paul,” Teemu said now. “Look at me.”

Paul looked. Teemu was smiling. His hair was too long, in Paul’s opinion, but he had been wearing it that way for years now. There were lines at his eyes and mouth that he didn’t remember when he thought of Teemu, his mind’s eye still painting him as a twenty-something, and he was everything Paul wanted. He hated it. 

“I’m retiring,” Teemu said. “And I have been thinking about what’s important to me. My family, of course. I’d like to get along better with my brothers. I want to do more work with charity. And I want you.”

“In what way?”

“Every way,” Teemu said, so simple and so utterly arrogant it took Paul’s breath away. “Soulmates, right?”

And Paul laughed, disbelieving because it was _just like_ Teemu to come out with something like this out of the blue and have it work. “Yeah,” he said. “Soulmates.”

 

Paul left for Logan International before Teemu did, but they met at the hotel breakfast, Teemu on his second cup of coffee by the time Paul had served himself eggs and toast. Teemu was hungover, but still smiled when he saw Paul, lifting his mug in greeting before clearing room for him at his table. They sat together in silence, Paul’s toes just pressed to the inside of Teemu’s foot, and when it was time for Paul to leave, Teemu rose to give him a tight embrace. The fingers of his right hand brushed Paul’s neck. 

“I’m not going easy on you next time we meet,” Teemu warned. 

“I look forward to it,” Paul said, smiling. He stepped back. He turned to go; he could feel Teemu watching him, his gaze heavy between his shoulderblades. Paul didn’t look back.


End file.
